Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

snatched one of the crumpled letters from the floor to wipe the gore off. Though tempted to run and take a shower, she had to at least try to get the book away from him.
    “I wasn’t done reading that.”
    He frowned at the book as if he hadn’t remembered that he held it.
    “You should let me read it, Lothaire. I was actually more impressed with you once I saw an illustration of a Wendigo. Almost like you’d bagged a thirty-point buck.”
    He swung his gaze on her, his expression saying, Who are you? Then, with a scowl, he traced to his safe, locking the book inside.
    When he returned, she said, “You can’t be this pissed off just because I read some musty old book—or because you had to play dirty with other little vampires.”
    “They were shifters !”
    “I didn’t get to read about shifters yet, so I can’t appreciate the tussle you must have had. But I’m sure you consider it a big feat.”
    He traced before her, looking positively insane. He clasped her throat, putting just enough pressure to tell her he was to be taken seriously.
    She acted unconcerned. “Or maybe you’re pissed because Saroya didn’t rise.” Considering the heated encounter between Ellie and him earlier, she’d figured he wanted to get busy with Saroya, but then rejected the idea. Surely, he wouldn’t be this hard-up hours later.
    Again, he’d gone half a decade without a glimpse of his mate.
    “Lothaire, why were you so positive that Saroya would rise? She usually doesn’t. Especially if there’s no one to kill or maim.”
    He released her with a muttered oath and shrugged out of his soiled trench coat.
    “Is there something dire you have to discuss with the goddess? A murder to plan or some evil to check off a punch list . . . ?” Ellie trailed off, words failing her, and sank down on the couch.
    Because she could now see his blatant erection straining against his pants.
    So there’s the fire, vampire.
    When she finally stopped gawking at the sheer size of it, she dragged her eyes upward. His shoulders were tense. Blond brows drew tight over hungry red eyes.
    The vampire did need to get busy! And Saroya was nowhere to be found.
    This all came down to lust? Not murders or plots?
    Lust was within the realm of her knowledge.
    She had experience enough with it from all her truck-cab flirtations. And when growing up, she’d learned much by simply keeping her ears open. She’d been raised in Appalachia, for God’s sake.
    Not to mention that the women in her family had made sure Ellie knew how to handle the opposite sex, because in times past, everything depended on men.
    She remembered her granny telling her, “Men are like coal boilers, Ellie. If you find a man you reckon to keep, you got to feed his belly every day, make him burn for you, then release some steam purty regular, or you ain’t ever gonna get him to work.”
    Hell, Saroya could take a lesson from Granny Peirce!
    Ellie watched Lothaire pacing so aggressively, imagining the pain he had to be feeling down there. And in his mouth, too. He kept running his tongue over his fangs.
    His fangs are sharp, yet my skin isn’t marked anew; his shaft is raring to go while my body’s untouched.
    Saroya, that silly bitch—who’d had time yesterday to amass a new wardrobe, wax her privates, and get her nails done—had consigned her vampire to this condition?
    Then left him in another woman’s company . . . a woman who looked exactly like her?
    If she’s stupid enough to leave him unsatisfied, Ellie half-jokingly thought, then maybe I ought to feed his belly and release his steam. Turn him to my side.
    She stilled.
    What if she . . . did?
    Could she win him over? Tempt him until he preferred her over Saroya?
    Her eyes went wide. If there was a way to get rid of Ellie, maybe the reverse was true? Then she could coax Lothaire to cast out Saroya!
    I could get my body back. My life back!
    The vampire paced, reaching one end of the spacious room a split second before the next. His movements were as dizzying as her thoughts; for the first time in years, she realized, Maybe I . . . maybe I don’t have to die.
    Ellie could bed Lothaire if she had to. She could close her eyes and pretend he wasn’t evil and that she didn’t hate him to the core of her being. Surely.
    You didn’t seem to mind when he was licking all over your neck, Ellie.
    At the memory, her nipples tightened again, but she forced herself to ignore her reaction.
    Could she let him have her? Risking